


Stagger

by keyboardclicks



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Ableist Language, Angst, Chronic Illness, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 03:17:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12572548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyboardclicks/pseuds/keyboardclicks
Summary: "The doctor has given me the name of an excellent facility in Holland-"Sick in bed after a fit, Percy and his uncle have a discussion.





	Stagger

It was after an attack that my uncle broke the news to me.  Any time I had a bad one I ended up in bed for a few days, at best to sleep and at worst to be looked after whilst I vomited and cried intermittently.  Even in the better scenario Doctor Wiseman, the specialist who had been taking care of me since I was a boy, would check up on me twice a day during breakfast and supper, or any other time my aunt saw it to be necessary.  Sometimes she or Uncle Thomas would keep me company for a short time, but mostly I was left to myself.

Feeling well enough one particular evening I had taken to reading in bed, expecting to be left alone until supper.  I was still a bit drowsy and so the sudden knock at my door made me jump.

“Come in.”

My uncle stepped quietly into the room, shutting the door behind him.  I rubbed my dry, tired eyes and stifled a yawn.  

“How are you feeling?” he asked.  I marked the page in my book and set it aside.  The answer was much the same as it usually was in this sort of situation.

“Better.  Tired, but I think tomorrow I should be well enough to get out of bed.”

He smiled, but didn’t seem happy.  Visibly hesitating he pulled a chair up near my bedside and sat in it, which made me rather uncomfortable because he usually sat near the bookcase on the opposite end of the room or near the window.  Never so close to the bed.  The lamp on the bedside locker cast shadows across the left side of his face, sharpening his features and aging him in a way I didn’t like.  I look nothing like my uncle; it’s my aunt I’m related to by blood and I scarcely even think I look like her, though she insists otherwise.  In this light I noticed our differences even more; his lips thin and face long where mine are both rounder and softer looking, but our shadows were equally hazy shapes on the wall.  I silently watched him while the candle in the lamp flickered.

“I’ve been talking with Doctor Wiseman,” he began, and I immediately groaned because this was how it always started.

“Another new treatment?  He said the new diet was sure to help and he already wants to change it?”  I suppose I shouldn’t have complained; after all he was only trying to help me.  But I’d been through so many unsuccessful treatment attempts and had begun to grow tired of them ages ago.  

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” he assured with a slight chuckle.  “He says the current diet is still the best option so you’re to remain on that and we’ll see if there’s any improvement.”

That didn’t make me feel much better.  As evidenced by the fact that I’d had a fit not two days ago it clearly wasn’t helping and I’d had to miss out on the roast during Christmas dinner, my favorite meal of the year!  If nothing was going to get rid of my fits then why couldn’t I just learn to live with them?

“What I was going to say was that Doctor Wiseman and I have discussed it and he has recommended that, should your condition not improve by your next birthday, you should be sent to an institution where they would be better equipped to care for someone with your needs.  He’s given me the name of an excellent facility in Holland-”

“Wait a moment,” I cut across, my mind unable to process any words past “institution” and needing a moment to catch up.  “Let me see if I understood; you’re-you’re going to send me away?  To an _asylum_?”  

Evidently embarrassed that his dancing around the subject hadn't worked, he only offered that, “It’s a very well-regarded facility.”

“I don’t care how well-regarded it is, it’s an asylum!  I’m not-I don’t need-”  Panic rose in my chest and I could acutely feel every beat of my suddenly racing heart.  Despite my previous lethargy I was suddenly breathing as if I’d just sprinted uphill.  A cold, hyper-aware buzz spread from my fingers to my toes and I could feel every minute rustle of the bedclothes as I shifted to sit up straighter.

“The specialists there will be better able to care for you than we could,” he explained, and placed a hand placatingly on my shoulder while I continued to veritably struggle for air.  “Think of how much trouble Aunt Elizabeth and I have; we’re simply at a loss for what to do until the doctor arrives!”

“But-”  My tongue fumbled and lolled uselessly around my mouth.  “But but don’t I get a _say_ in this?!  Uncle, I know my fits are hard to handle, I know they must be scary to watch but _I’m_ the one who has to go through them!  Shouldn’t I at least have a say in being put in a bloody _madhouse_?!”

“I’ll remind you to watch your language in front of me, Percy,” he said evenly.  “Now, your aunt and I have discussed this at length and while she was reluctant we ultimately agreed with Doctor Wiseman that it would be the best course of action.  Please don’t think it’s easy for us; we’ve always just wanted you taken care of and this is no different.”

I knew that.  I knew that very well and I never want it to be thought that I didn’t appreciate my aunt and uncle for all they did for me, but this went beyond looking out for my wellbeing.

“I don’t need to be put in-in-in a lunatic asylum,” I stuttered, though my voice was measured and forcibly calm.  “Uncle Thomas I’m not crazy!  It’s just these fits-!  I-I can’t control them, I can’t help when they happen!"  Alright, so that made me sound rather crazy.  After all, normal people didn't spontaneously drop to the floor and begin convulsing as if possessed by a demon.  Normal people were meant to retain full control of their facilities at all times; by their definition of course I would seem insane.  "But I’m not-I’m not-!”

He squeezed my shoulder gently, looking at me with an almost mournful expression while I gripped my knees.  I wanted to hit him for looking at me like that, like I was a pitiful animal.  But at the same time I wanted nothing more than to be held like when I was little and scared and confused, because that’s exactly how I felt; small and unsure and unable to stop the world from collapsing around me.

As if it was any sort of reassurance, he said, “This is only if your fits don’t improve by the time your turn eighteen; a lot could happen in nine months.  And even then it could take a while to secure you a place; this isn’t going to happen immediately.  I just wanted you to know now so it didn’t come as a shock later.”

Engaged in swallowing the vile lump in my throat, I didn’t answer.  His hand moved from my shoulder to my head and smoothed down my hair, something which had absolutely never worked but that he liked to do anyway.  Since I reached about the age of thirteen it wasn't something he did often and the feelings it brought were mixed.

“You know your aunt and I love you.”

I nodded.  “I know.”

“And that we only want what’s best for you.”

My jaw was clenched.  Why did they always get to decide what was “best” for me?  Why wasn’t that a decision I was privileged enough to make?  Was I too young?  Too inexperienced?  Or simply too atypical to be trusted with such important matters, even though they regarded my very life?  My head and throat began to ache from the strain of holding back tears; I wouldn't let myself appear any more childlike than I had already.  “I know.”

“Good lad.”

He brushed back my hair a few more times, only to have the same curls fall in front of my eyes so, giving up, he ruffled it back up instead while rising to his feet.  His smile brought back my recent violent urge, and perhaps it was lucky for us both that I couldn’t reach his face from where I sat.

“I’ll have your supper brought up.  Try to get plenty of rest.”

_Don’t leave it at that!  This is your life he’s talking about, your future!  He can’t just decide that strangers will control you for the rest of your life!_

“Alright, I will.  Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.  Enjoy your reading.”

I waited until his heavy footsteps were muffled by distance before pulling one of the pillows up to my face and yelling into it, the previously restrained tears leaking from the corners of my clenched eyes.  I bit the pillowcase and curled in on myself, no longer interested in reading or dinner or much of anything.  All I could think was how unfair it was; unfair that I was stuck with this impossible condition, unfair that those who knew me thought I was diseased or crazy and those who didn't thought I was beneath them, unfair that with all the things I was blessed with I was unable to make decisions for myself, unfair that I was to be shipped off to some strange building in a strange country where every day for the rest of my life would be planned out for me by strange people.  And this wasn't even to mention the complete unfairness that was being hopelessly in love with Monty with no chance of it ever being reciprocated, which had no bearing on the situation at hand but was something which caused me constant distress.

When I was brought along with my dinner an envelope bearing a familiar name I instructed it to be burned in the hearth but changed my mind last minute and had it left at my bedside while I picked disinterestedly at my meal.  Eventually deciding that the evening couldn’t get any worse I opened it, but at the line, “ _Dear Percy, I heard you've taken ill again,”_ I lost what sliver of composure remained in me, turned out the lamp, and buried myself beneath the covers to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I likely won't write many things like this because I'm not a chronically ill person of color so I don't feel comfortable trying to take up this sort of space but hey sometimes an angsty idea hits you and you can't rest until it's out on a word document.


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